Bereavement Poem by Rachealgrace Adams

Shade or sun it is the heat extracting my observations;
there a sliver of tree bark fell across the lawn lounging
in a cluster of yellowed leafs where a nested dove waits
next to an air conditioner's blade inside its walls, beating
the fiber of my brain that will not debate my God.He
is beyond a doubt my creator, the I AM of sun or shade.

I know when the dove comes no words will be necessary,
a paralyzed person I communicate as we are; though I cope
with season's reasons and the longing for an easel, a palette
and brushes that won't leave visions as they do but more;
my insides ache for His sheeted clouds.

If I were depressed, I wouldn't care about sheets or burns
or give a damn what a dove thinks of the bee that lit on a leaf
next to my shoulder; its wings tease the hairs on my arm
that dare not move; hazy and lazy in a plumped cushioned chair
while I pray when my hand drops, let it be in a graceful way.

Shade or sun I am stuck here, by the edge of a bowl like a layer of
paint; where I left a sculpted dove, its wings cracked next to grass
with a rabbit his nose pressed in dirt; as if he knows I am nothing
but a voyeur; I cannot steal or sell canvas, my paint dry as I am
without the ability to move this sun or shade. Do not mourn me,
I have no illusionary doubts.